Shawn D. Congleton's Blog, page 2

Palm Sunday—Hitting Hard

This morning as I meditated on the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem for Passover (what we affectionately call Palm Sunday), I read a line that I am sure I’ve skimmed many times. Jesus was having a conversation with the crowd who is enthralled and curious and hopeful that he might be The Messiah—their Savior. 

He had recently raised Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus was quite literally dead for several days. Some thought he may have just been asleep, but others knew he had, without a doubt, been dead as he was actually buried in a tomb. 

Lazarus was Jesus’ friend and his family loved Jesus. They knew who he was. They believed. But, the crowd was trying to decide for themselves and as Jesus entered the area, they were asking questions and listening to what Jesus had to say. Yet, most of them did not want to believe despite the amazing miracles Jesus had performed.

There was a group, however, that actually did believe for the first time. They were Jewish leaders. (shocked eyes) These religious leaders actually were actually believing in Jesus. 

But, they did not want to admit it. They did not want to reveal themselves. They were afraid of what other Jewish leaders (Pharisees) would do to them and their positions of leadership. They could be excommunicated. They could be dismissed. They could be cast out. They could be brought down, lowly and despised.

Their positions of leadership meant more to them than following Jesus. 

The Living Bible says, “they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.” John 12:43

I think it’s easy to judge them, to mock them, to dismiss those religious leaders. Neh! Why would you care more about the Pharisees than you did Jesus?!? That’s stupid. After all, that’s how I’ve read this scripture so many times.

Until this morning when I realized that was me.

I love the praise of men more than I do the praise of God.

Lord, forgive me. I’m sorry. Help me to change.

For so long, I’ve wanted out of a situation in my life where I do not feel respected. I do not feel valued. I do not feel appreciated. (no, it’s not my marriage that woman deeply respects, loves, and appreciates me) And I have wanted out, despite what I thought God wanted. I have basically not cared what God’s opinion was, I just wanted out.

In many ways, I know that God has been using me in that situation. I know that I am a light unto the world as He shines through me. Yet, I have not always acted like it. I have not always been the best example, the best witness. But, the reality is I just wanted out and I’ve been asking God to show me the way. 

This morning, this phrase about these Jewish leaders that I’ve commonly dismissed (because they weren’t disciples of Jesus), “they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God” became very real to me. 

I began to look back at my life and realize how many times that has been true. Where I was more interested in what people thought of me than I was what God thought of me. I wish I could only care what God thinks of me. I repent and I ask that God helps me to think his way, that he enables and empowers me to only care about his thoughts of me.

I know, part of this is simply being human. We all want to be loved, to be appreciated, to be valued and respected. This is how we are designed. This is a part of our humanity. 

BUT, what do I want more? And when I realize the conflict between pleasing God and pleasing man, what do I choose? 

Lord, today, help me to choose you. Help me to care more about what you think than what others think about me. Help me to be your light in the darkness. Help me to exemplify you above all others. Help me to choose you and not be afraid of what others think.

How about you? Do you struggle with this? What scriptures have you read before, completely glossed over, but later hit you like a ton of bricks? Where do you need to grow today?

When Fast is Slow

I couldn’t believe what I had gotten myself into. How could I expect to meet all of these demands, all of these expectations? And yet, somehow I wasn’t stressed. I wasn’t exasperated. But, I was busy. And I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. 

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It was the summer of 1999. I was hired in May to be a part-time youth pastor at our church. I was excited about it. I loved working with young people and had spent the previous year as a volunteer. The year had been a whirlwind itself. 

My full time job was as an administrative assistant for the College of Education and Human Services at Wright State University. I led a group of student workers to process undergrad and graduate applications into the college. Ironically, I loved my job. 

I say ironically because being an administrative assistant (full disclosure: my title was actually secretary) was a role typically served by a woman. When I tell people I used to be a secretary, they often tilt their head a little to understand. And I laugh about it to ease the awkwardness. To be real though, to this day, this has been one of my favorite jobs and even more ironically, I was assigned that role initially by the U.S. Marine Corps when they made me an admin clerk on an open contract.

Though I loved that job, I had been working 40 hours a week at it and had recently been hired as a part-time youth pastor. Those that have served in ministry know that when you add the word part-time in front of your title, it just means that you are being paid that way. There is no such thing as part-time ministry.

In fact, we were flying through one of the busiest times of the year for youth ministry, SUMMER! Students are always more available in the summer with school being out and all so we had more trips, more events, and well, more everything to keep them busy with positive activities. 

In addition to these two full-time jobs that I had, my wife and I were raising our three-year old daughter, Morgan. Thank God, she was a very easy toddler to raise! So compliant, so sweet, such a fun, good girl. We had just closed the previous winter on building our first home and that summer it was completed and we were able to move in, in late July. We had been staying with my in-laws for nine months in preparation for our move-in. 

Have I mentioned yet that I was a full-time student at Ohio Christian University? (Circleville Bible College, at the time) I was completing my bachelor’s degree in religion with an emphasis in leadership and ministry. Thankfully, I only had to attend class once a week on a Thursday night. It was an hour and a half drive from work, but only an hour home afterwards. It was a four-hour long class each week, but the time flew by and we discussed our studies. 

I have no idea how I made it through that summer. Those were certainly the busiest months of my entire life. My only explanation is… God got me through.

There was one other factor that I am sure helped a lot. 

That summer, I decided to fast. What?!? You might be thinking, you decided to do all of that without food???

Well, not exactly. I decided to fast MEDIA. Most people think about fasting as going without food for a period of time. But, that summer, I decided to fast media. Anyone who knows me knows that I love technology and television so going without them was a bit mind-blowing.

On my days off when I was a full-time (paid) youth pastor, I would sit in front of the television from dawn to dusk and after. (Thanks, TiVo!) It was a habit from my childhood that helped me relax and escape. That being said I was a bit of a television and media junkie. Though social media had not really been invented yet, the internet was very available (thanks AOL!) and I perused my email quite often as well. I loved scouring the internet for information about my sports teams and signing up for newsletters about them that were delivered directly to my inbox. 

I got mail! 

I actually decided to fast as a bit of a challenge to our youth group. I read or heard something about doing it and that it could be beneficial for our spiritual journey, so I decided to try it. I was just waiting to start twitching since I gave up all forms of media for the week.

No television (bye, bye Dawson’s Creek). No computer (outside of work and school responsibilities). No cell phone. (Oh, wait, I don’t even remember if I had one yet). No newspaper. (We definitely still had one of those.) No magazines. (I am sure, my pre-season NFL magazine was the most difficult to put aside!). No media (bye, bye ESPN, sniff, sniff).

Can I tell you how bored I was? Working practically two full-time jobs, going to school full-time, raising a three-year old, during the busiest season of youth ministry and moving into a new house and I was bored.

I found more time than I knew what to do with. 

That’s the way it is with a fast. You quickly see things differently. You begin to realize how much certain things meant to you. And maybe you wonder why they meant so much.

Typically, during a fast, you can also replace the item that you are going without with another more positive interaction. If you fast food, for example, when you are hungry that is the time to pray. Or read your Bible. I’m not sure how much I did that, I mean, c’mon, it was my first fast and thankfully it wasn’t food. But, I’m not sure which would have been harder for a week. 

It was not easy. It seemed to take forever. Let’s just say, my fast started off really slow.

But, crazy enough, it didn’t stay that way. Time has a way of flying by once you start something new and get past those first phases. What seems to take forever will fly by before you know it. And it did.

I got to the end of my week and celebrated by sharing my experience with the youth group and challenging them to do something similar. 

I was blown away by how much I had been filling my time with useless media consumption. I was blown away by how much it mattered to me when it was gone. AND I was blown away by how much less it mattered by the end of the week. 

The insight and experience was well worth it. 

So, I tried it again, just this week. Only, this time, it is not a pure media fast, but a social media fast. I had found myself checking on my news feeds way too much lately and felt twitchy a lot. You know the phantom buzzing in your pocket that isn’t really there so you check your notifications anyway?

I’m off social media for a month. I’m five days in. My only exception is my ability to post this blog so I won’t see your comments for at least 25 days unless you text them to me personally. 

The first few days, I felt twitchy and wanted to constantly check up on things. But, I didn’t cave. Then the first Indiana Hoosiers basketball game came and normally I constantly scroll through Twitter during pre-game and commercials to read the #iubb commentary. How did we enjoy games before twitter?!! I guess I’m finding out. I definitely missed it and it was a different experience already.

I’ll let you know how things go in about a month. Until then, feel free to try your own SLOW fast. 

What could you give up? For how long? What can’t you give up? What are your thoughts and experiences with fasting? I would love to log on in a month and read your responses. Feel free to send them to me directly. Have a great month!

Chuck Norris doesn’t get PTSD, PTSD gets Chuck Norris—BUT what about his family?

I remember growing up in the 80s, noticing just how many, mostly action movies, but definitely more than a few dramatic representations of the aftermath of the Vietnam War on our servicemen. I was introduced to First Blood by a small town pastor that lived near us when he played it for my six year old self and my ten year old brother. 

It was loads of fun for two prepubescent adolescents enthralled with the kick-butt-and-take-no-names action pic. John Rambo’s lack of acceptance in society, particularly by a veteran peace officer flew right over my head. His intense struggle with PTSD displayed at the onset of the action and in the heart wrenching final moments of the film were oblivious to me in my young age.

Most of what I remember from those days was the action of Rambo, First Blood Part 2 and the Missing in Action series. I watched other movies like Born on the Fourth of July, but their dramatic themes and real life ramifications went well beyond my understanding.

Let’s just say I missed the incredible struggles of the aftermath of Vietnam on our servicemen through cinema. However, I did not miss it at home. I lived it.

During my childhood years, I knew my own difficult plight of physical and emotional abuse delivered by my own father’s hands (a Vietnam Veteran). Our family experienced a nomadic lifestyle moving six to twelve times a year on average. Learning how to survive that not so nurturing environment would be unbelievably difficult for any kid, but particularly for me, a self-described highly sensitive introvert that hides it well (sometimes).

As an adult, I have watched dramatic portrayals of the aftermath of war on veterans and their families like in the movie, Brothers. Let’s just say, if you are not ready to have your heart ripped out, don’t watch it. American Sniper had a similar effect on me as an adult.. 

Most of these stories focus on the difficulty that the veterans have returning from war and struggling with PTSD among other things. Their challenges are heart wrenching and the need to support these men and women is great. 

I can only imagine. 

While I did serve four years in the Marines myself, I did not experience battle. I did not experience war. I still struggle at times from my own Marine Corps experience so I can only imagine what it would be like for these heroes. 

I say all that to say when I watch these types of movies now, as difficult as it is to watch what they go through, my attention is focused elsewhere. 

I see the family.

I see their response to the hero’s struggle. I see their victimization. I see their own struggle. I see their failures. I see their plight. 

And my heart goes out to them.

Most of the time, the support that is extended post wartime service is extended to the veteran and deservedly so. Our veterans need our support. They need to be honored. They need to be thanked. We need community resources for these men and women to overcome the PTSD and many other mental and emotional struggles they have when they come home. 

But, most of the time, what is missing are the extended resources for their families. Without much direct knowledge of the current state of affairs, I have certainly noticed that there are some resources for military families today. I’ve had my eye on a job posting or two on positions that support them directly.

What I haven’t noticed are resources and support for the families of veterans (as opposed to current members of the military). The Veterans Administration seems to provide a lot of resources and support for the veterans themselves, but what about their families? I’ve noticed community resources for the veterans, but what about the wife and kids? 

Maybe, I’m just missing them. Are they out there? What are they? How do they qualify? 

What do you think? Did you have a family member that served in wartime? What resources or support would have been helpful to you? to your family?

Read more about my life story in my memoir, NEVER SETTLED.

Why I LOVE to Travel

One could say that the way we grow up has a tremendous impact on who we are as adults. Others may say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

It’s the age old dilemma of NATURE vs NURTURE.

And the ramifications are enormous.

It could also be described as DESTINY vs DESTINATION.

Destiny—they might say—is where we end up regardless of our decisions.

Destination—I might say—is where you choose to end up regardless of your situation.

Who we become and what we do with our given set of circumstances has an incredible impact on where we end up, on our destination.

When I consider my story of growing up in poverty, abuse and a nomadic lifestyle—I chose a different destination instead of accepting that as my destiny. If I were to accept what seemed to be my destiny (you know, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree) then I would be living a very different life today.

You may not be able to change your destiny, but you can change your destination.

The irony of this is, I recognized this at a fairly young age. I refused to live the life I was handed. I determined to end up at a different destination.

Yet, no matter how hard I try and no matter how much I want to be different, I have characteristics built into me by probably both nature and nurture. 

A couple of the characteristics that I inherited from my dad are a love for change and intense emotions. When I was a kid, I saw this as his chase for something better over the next horizon. The pursuit of greener grass directed our lives, I thought.

My dad moved us constantly, in pursuit of a better situation, a better job. He always thought that the next small town would provide the community he wanted, the location of our prosperity, where it would all come together, I assume. Yet, it never really did. 

Things got slightly better over the years, but usually only because we slowed down and moved less. After all, I only attended four high schools. But, our lives, our interactions, didn’t change much.

Every place we ever lived—all 74 by graduation—the people there, couldn’t wait to get out. Whether it was Montana, Colorado, California, Indiana, Wisconsin or Texas they couldn’t wait to get out. You would think that once you’ve lived in 19 states, you would find one where people couldn’t wait to get in. 

Now, as an adult who wanted better for my kids, as a parent who didn’t want his girls to experience constant upheaval, I have lived in the Springfield area of Ohio for 25 years since I got out of the Marine Corps. 

And let me tell you, living in one area has been quite the challenge for me.

Thus, comes my inherited traits of intense emotions and a desire for constant change.

I don’t know how to explain it, but due to moving so many times as a kid, I have a great need for change. Most people hate change. I crave it. While consistency in some areas is still needed, change is just as necessary for me.

As an adult, I have had to rearrange the furniture in my house every 6-12 months. We will often supplement that with a new coat of paint. And, maybe a new set of decorations every few years.

While this has been enough to help me survive and even thrive in our lives, it had grown increasingly difficult to stay in the same locale. However, I still put my kid’s needs for stability and development before my own desire to move on. 

Enter, stage left. TRAVEL

For years, we took the obligatory Spring Break trip every year to escape the cold winters of Ohio, typically to Florida to thaw out for a week. This proved very fruitful and I was able to find rest, renewal and refreshment from the sun.

Oh, how I love Florida.

I cannot begin to express how the Florida sun energizes me after a long winter. Those intense emotions of the winter blahs quickly go away in just a week’s time. The weather makes a dramatic impact on me in immeasurable fashion.

Yet, in the past ten years, since I’ve been working in the education field and have had my summers off, we have been able to extend our weeks of vacation and travel more in the summer now. We never miss a Spring Break, for sure, but now we have been able to travel longer and farther. We almost always travel by car.

The opportunity to see new places and experience new people has helped tremendously. I only rearrange our bedroom about once a year now and our living room about the same. The rest of our rooms don’t have enough flexibility to be changed and we’ve only added one coat of paint to the bedroom since we moved into our house five or six years ago.

Let’s just say that our ability to travel in the summer has been a marvelous change agent to maintain our home base. Below are just a few destinations we have been able to experience in that time and have led to my growing love of travel.

Boston and the historic northeast coast. I know most people say to visit this area in the Fall, but we went in late July and early August and it was fantastic. Visiting this area while it was warm, was essential for me. Walking around historic downtown Boston while sipping my favorite Starbucks latte was something I’ll never forget. Savoring lobster on the wharf and basking in the warm sun, reflecting off my face with the harbor birds flying around us was serene.

We were also able to enjoy Philadelphia, DC, Baltimore, a resort on the coast of Maine, and a lighthouse near New Haven, CT. We were able to explore Providence, RI and pop into New Hampshire even. This was the summer trip of a lifetime—until my daughter moved to Alaska. 

My oldest got married to her high school sweetheart who promptly joined the Air Force.

He was stationed near Anchorage, Alaska and immediately following their honeymoon they moved about 4,000 miles away. The military shipped his car there, but not hers. So, after some deliberation we offered to drive it to her. One of my dad’s dreams was to drive the Alaska Highway. I was extremely curious and it sounded like the trip of a lifetime.

My wife and I drove her Chevy Spark nearly 6,000 miles over 9 days to deliver her first new car back to her. Let’s be honest, we just needed an excuse. 

Wait, you say, I thought it was only 4,000 miles?! Well, that is if you drive direct. We decided to drop in a couple of sites that we wanted to see along the way so we drove due west to San Francisco. A couple of unexpected spectacular sites along the way were the loneliest road in Nevada (google it) and driving by Lake Tahoe as we entered California.

We drove for 15 hours a day every day except for two. The day we explored San Francisco for 5 hours and the one time we took an entire day to explore Seattle. We camped overnight in the Redwood Forest which was both scary and fun! We arrived after dark, set up our tent and promptly went to sleep without the ability to see much. When we awoke and stepped out of our tent at 5 am, it was like we woke up in Jurassic Park. We took a short walk to the ocean from the campgrounds and when an early morning runner passed us on the trail from behind, I thought we were going to be eaten by a Velociraptor!

The drive had been rather boring until we got to Denver from Ohio, but it was so gorgeous after that, that we hardly noticed the long driving days. I should say I hardly noticed since I drove 90% of the trip! (91 hours to be exact) After visiting friends in Seattle and seeing the sights (most importantly, the first Starbucks) we spent three more 15-hour days driving to Anchorage.

I won’t go into it too much right now, but let’s just say it consisted of sleeping in sunlight after midnight, having our credit cards shut off, almost running out of gas, ignoring the billboard spray painted with “ladies, don’t hitchhike, there’s a killer on the loose,” dropping off our family sign in a rest area and enjoying some poutine and hot springs along our route. Alaska was quite gorgeous and unique as well. 

I don’t have time in this blog to get into our #25daysofloveandlattes for our 25th anniversary, but suffice it to say, we began our true love for nature, hiking, and the road. What started as a love for only Starbucks, blossomed into trying every local coffee shop we could find. (bonus points for uniqueness)

As with Spring Break and how the sun energized me, I can’t begin to express how these trips touch my deep emotions and set me up with renewed energy and excitement for the next school year. They have helped me to maintain our stable home in Ohio while allowing me some adventure and change from the ordinary.

How about you? How did you develop your love for travel? Have you been holding off? What holds you back from taking more trips? Where do you want to go?!

Read more about my life story in my memoir, NEVER SETTLED.

Available on Amazon, Target, Barnes & Noble and just about any e-format you can find.

Quiet

I have been reading a book called, “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking” by Susan Cain. For years, I thought I was an extrovert because I can be really social around people that I know very well. When I feel safe and comfortable in a setting, I can actually talk quite a bit, particularly with close friends. 

For years, as a youth pastor, I felt like I had to entertain teenagers to get them to come to my next event. And I did a pretty good job of it on my better days. After all, my passion for teenagers to know Jesus was pretty uncompromised for a while. However, it still felt out of place to entertain them. I was definitely operating outside of my comfort zone. 

As time went on and I recognized this conflict within me—the need to be boisterous, fun, and outgoing with students I barely knew and my natural laid-back chilled self that liked to listen to people that were new to me—I knew I had to do something different. 

I wrestled with this same conflict even when I first left youth ministry and planted a house church network. I mean, my only real church experiences constantly reinforced in me the need to try and attract people to my next big thing, even if my personality, philosophy and theology told me that wasn’t necessary. I felt more and more uncomfortable in large group public speaking situations.

It was in this fire, along with seeking God’s direction on how to best finance my now-determined-to-be-a-volunteer-ministry as a house church planter that I learned about the possibility of becoming a public high school counselor. You mean, I just get to listen to students tell me their problems all day and provide the guidance they are seeking? I wondered. 

That was intriguing. 

It was in this process (of becoming a school counselor) that I began to recognize how much of an introvert that I am. Parties in high school were always awkward for me, not just because I didn’t drink, but also because I never really knew how to act. I was not one for a large crowd and felt the pressure to be outgoing when I wasn’t really.

Even in my conversations with close friends, I like to listen more than I talk. AND I wonder why doesn’t everyone??!! Why doesn’t everyone listen more than they talk? We were all born with two ears and one mouth, they say, we should listen twice as much as we talk.

Yet, I am constantly reminded how much our culture values and rewards the talkers and the extroverts over the introverts. So many jobs and tasks require it to be successful. I have learned to do those things—public speaking, networking, connecting in large groups, etc.— yet I found myself most at home and most prolific when I am one-on-one or working by myself.

This morning’s chapter in this book about introversion talked specifically about highly sensitive individuals. It was kinda scary to be honest because it nailed me to a tee. There were particular characteristics of highly sensitive people that I and others have often thought of as being very negative. 

Did you know that highly sensitive people can actually have physically thinner skin? Like literally! This causes them to actually sweat more easily. I’ve always wondered why I can sweat just walking down the hallway with no effort.

Yet, in light of the very real, very biological reasons that some are highly sensitive, many of these characteristics have a very positive and much needed quality in certain contexts, particularly certain career fields or work tasks. 

Reading about and understanding my personality style’s strengths and weaknesses has been having a dramatic impact on how I understand my struggles in my job, career and even my personal/social life. It has also revealed how I’ve been so successful within those very same areas. 

It has helped me to know why I’m so uncomfortable with certain tasks. It has helped me to know why I am so much better at some tasks than others. It has helped me to accept myself. It has helped me to know what I am looking for in a job. It has helped me to know how to ask others for assistance.

While I don’t see our culture embracing the quiet, introverted, highly sensitive type of person any time soon, I do believe that there is MUCH TO EMBRACE. 

AND WE CAN EMBRACE EACH OTHER.

Too often when our personality type is not embraced in our culture, we think less of ourselves. We may even think less of others.

We don’t need to do that. We can accept ourselves. We can have confidence that we bring many great things to the table, whether everyone sees them and values them or not. 

We can also accept others! It can be tempting when you learn to accept yourself, to not accept others who are very different than you. It takes balance, teamwork and an acceptance of everyone for their personality and culture. We must be careful not to attack them for their weaknesses just because they are different from our weaknesses.

How about you? Any introverts out there? What have you struggled to accept in yourself as an introvert? What do you realize is such a strength of being highly sensitive that others don’t even recognize?

Who is the HERO?

My wife loves traditions, particularly around Christmas. We have a set of traditions that we have followed since the kids were very young. At first, these traditions really annoyed me. I don’t care much for traditions. She loves traditions because they ground us in life. Traditions give meaning and consistency for her. I don’t care for traditions because they become “same old, same old” for me. Traditions represent a boring and lifeless experience.

But, since we joined lives and created a family together, it has become necessary to compromise. I learn what is meaningful to her and she learns what is meaningful to me and we work to meet both of those needs. 

When we started our Christmas traditions when our kids were young, she got things mostly her way. Since we didn’t have too many traditions in my family, I was open to that and there were just a couple of things that were important to me.

Together, we decided to read the Christmas Story from Luke 2 every Christmas Eve. We also read Twas the Night before Christmas. We left milk and cookies for Santa. We even scattered seed for the reindeer. Then the girls went to bed. When Santa came, he filled their stockings and left one “large” gift that was unwrapped. All of the other gifts were wrapped and from us. This minimized the importance of Santa, but still kept the magic we thought.

As the years have gone by, we have added a few that I have incorporated. I have learned that since my wife loves tradition, I may as well add a couple myself to ensure I get a few things that I love every year.

We added more Christmas presents from us since I felt like our first year was rather paltry compared to my family’s Christmas morning experiences. We added my favorite version of the Christmas Story found in the first chapter of John. We started watching my favorite Christmas movie, A Christmas Story on Christmas Eve and we even started going to get Chinese food (not my favorite food) on Christmas Eve to mimic the end of the movie.

Wait, Christmas Story found in John 1? Yeah, I’ve never heard anyone else use that one either. But, it is my favorite. It is a beautiful depiction of Jesus coming to earth. 

“Before anything else existed, there was Christ, with God. He has always been alive and is himself God. He created everything there is—nothing exists that he didn’t make. Eternal life is in him, and this life gives light to all mankind.” John 1:1-4 (TLB)

Go ahead, read the rest of the chapter this morning. I did.

This is not just a chapter for Christmas.

As I read, I noticed that people were expecting John the Baptist to be the Messiah, their Savior. But, John knew that wasn’t his place. He was only there to point people to Jesus. Just like us.

I’ve been reading Donald Miller’s new book, Hero on a Mission and he talks about how there are four main characters in a story that make it great. The victim, the villain, the hero and the guide.

The reality is that we all go through tough times in life and we experience life as a victim. Those who succumb to life’s challenges live either as the victim or find the strength through anger and resentment to become the villain. Yes, there is an alternative. If we find the strength and the healthier responses to our challenges, we can become a hero and/or a guide for others to become one of the same.

I decided yesterday that I want to be the guide. In many ways, I’ve always wanted to be the guide. But, there are definite times that though I don’t usually choose to live as a villain (though sometimes I do in my head), I choose to live as a victim. 

I want to be the guide because I know that Jesus is the only true hero.

John understood that too. People kept thinking he was their hero. But, he knew his place. His place was to point people to Jesus, the real hero.

I want to encourage you today. If you’ve struggled through life’s difficulties, you do not have to live your life as a victim or as a villain.  You can overcome. You can either be a hero or a guide.

But, ultimately the only way to live as either is to look to the true, the original, HERO. 

Jesus can help you through. He can help you find forgiveness. He can help you find resolution. He can make you new. He can give you a new start. He can transform you completely.

Go ahead, read John 1 today. See if you don’t get inspired. Fix your eyes on the one, true HERO—Jesus.

A New Project?

It’s a new year, gotta start something new, right?! Most people are looking for a fresh start with some area of their life and the new year sometimes provides the motivation or reason to start anew. Obviously, any day we can choose to start something new, but too often we don’t. 

We stay stuck.

I’ve been mulling over a couple of writing projects for quite some time, but have held off due to feeling a lack of motivation. Social Media posts have been telling me that I don’t need motivation to start, I just need to start. 

Yet, I have been holding off.

I think I have been holding back because of a lack of results from my previous writing project. I released my personal memoir one year ago. It was greatly received by many friends and family and I’ve received a lot of positive feedback from those people and even a few from my distant past. 

However, that has been about it. I had hoped to be able to get my project further out there to people who have no clue who I am because I believe my story can inspire, encourage and help someone to rise above the life they were given. 

Ultimately, that is my reason to write. I want to inspire, encourage and help. I want people to walk away better, challenged and ready to face the day.

Today is the day that I begin again.

I am still in need of some inspiration as I start to walk forward though so I sent some personal messages to many of my contacts from back in the day.

When I sat down to begin my first memoir, one of the things I did was create a mixed tape, er a playlist of music from the era that I was writing about. I pressed play and whala… the memories came flooding back.

Music has that amazing quality. I started typing and didn’t stop for hours.

Since I created my latest playlist of Jars of Clay, Michael W. Smith, and DC Talk to name a few, the memories came back, but the writing has not been so easy. Instead of worrying about how it will all fit together though, It’s time to just write. Get the words on the page and figure out how it all fits together later. 

A new year, a new project. 

How about you? What were you waiting for a new year to start? What have you been mulling over in the back of your mind? What step(s) do you need to take to get started?

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A Veteran’s Tribute to Daniel Kellis

I used to think of myself as not worthy of respect. Or rather, not needing respect. 

I work in an urban high school where respect is a huge issue. You don’t survive in the streets without getting or giving respect appropriately. Kids learn what and who to respect, sometimes the hard way. Respect, oftentimes, seems more important to survival than love.

A few years ago, I remember reading a book about marriage relationships called Love and Respect. The basic premise was that women are designed to need love and men are designed to need respect. I balked at that idea. Mostly because I, as a man, didn’t feel like I needed respect, but I definitely felt like I needed love.

I think one reason why respect wasn’t big for me was because I didn’t have it growing up. I never accomplished much that was worthy of respect and therefore rarely received it. When I did receive an honor of respect in some way, it was weird and awkward for me. I didn’t really know how to receive it.

Until I became a youth pastor. I know this might sound weird, but being a youth pastor was the place I felt like I have received the most respect in my life.

I’ve been a state wrestler. I survived a crazy childhood and thrived in life. I’ve worked at a university. I’ve been a father of three (girls, even). I’ve dedicated my life to helping young people. I’ve been a counselor. I’ve worked in education. I’ve been a principal (at an after school program). I’ve been a Marine. I graduated from boot camp. 

Yet, the place I’ve felt the most respect was as a youth pastor. Primarily from the church members. And our senior pastors. 

I didn’t really notice it until I left that role. Once my career and church role changed, I began to notice how people treated me differently. I was less important. I was overlooked. I wasn’t the same kind of special. 

If I’m honest, though I never sought respect and honor, I miss it. In many ways, I dodged it for years. I disliked the title “pastor.” Just call me Shawn, I thought. I was kind of annoyed when people expected me to be the one who prayed. We all have the ability to pray, I thought, God doesn’t hear me any more than he hears you. But, looking back, I see this expectation as a sign of respect.

In my time since then, in my many different roles, I have rarely felt the same respect and I often miss it. 

But, what makes a person worthy of respect? Why should we or do we demonstrate respect toward other people? While everyone is deserving of some respect, why do we elevate others above? Why do we lift them up, as role models even?

In our culture, too often, I believe we do it because people hold talents that are rare, rather than their character or their service. We look at celebrities, musical artists, and athletes and admire them without much regard for their character.

I believe character and service are the primary reasons to honor and respect others above the norm. I believe the way we live our lives should naturally elicit honor and respect from others. The way we treat others, the way we love others, and the way we respect others ourselves.

When I think of Veterans on this Veterans Day, no one is more worthy of Honor and Respect.

Veterans have served our country and demonstrated the type of character that is notable.

In fact, one particular Veteran is on my mind today that is particularly deserving.

Daniel Kellis, my father-in-law, left this earth to spend eternity with Jesus Monday night. He was a man who was worthy of honor and respect, yet he never sought it and most would never know it.

From the first time I met him, he was a quiet and humble person. He never had much to say, yet he was always willing to serve others. Danny served his country in the U.S. Army. So yes, today he is honored for that. 

But, Danny’s service went far beyond serving our country. 

Daniel served God and others throughout his life. He went above and beyond when he knew there was a need. He never complained and he was always willing to go the extra mile for someone. He was a man worthy of respect. 

Danny lived a life of faith. He loved God and he believed that God would save him. Alas, He has! Danny gets to spend eternity with his Lord! He is no longer suffering and his body is no longer failing. He has been renewed and spends his days dancing with the Lord, not struggling to walk from his chair to his bedroom. The dude dances with Jesus today! 

Because he put his faith and trust in Jesus.

Danny lived a life of prayer. When I first became a youth pastor, I was required to attend one of our weekly prayer meetings each week. Danny may have attended all of them, I’m not sure, but he definitely attended on Tuesdays. I remember hearing him pray and knowing that man was simply connecting with God. He wasn’t eloquent, per se, but he did pray in the KJV (King James Version). He simply connected with God.

I learned to pray, in part, by listening to him and praying together with those men. He demonstrated his faith over and over again through consistent prayer and trusting God to meet the needs of people he loved.

Though he was trusting God, he didn’t leave it all up to God to meet those needs. Danny did much of that himself. He served others when he heard there was a need. He would bring food to people all of the time, whether they were homeless or shut-ins. If there was a need he could meet, he did so. 

He also served his family. If there was one thing that was modeled for me in their home, it was how he served his family. If they had a need, he met it, oftentimes going above and beyond, spoiling them by cleaning their room, warming up their car or buying them a treat. He was a generous servant of Jesus who served his family.

Through all of his life, I can see that he was a man of faith, prayer and service. When I think of what God has called all of his people to, it is that. Danny exemplified this life and for that he is worthy of our respect. 

Lord, help us to live like Danny because he lived like Jesus.

Blah.

What do you write about when you lose inspiration? 

The last two months have been very difficult for me and my family. 

After reaching our 50th state (Vermont), my wife and I ventured out west to conquer 7 different National Parks in 8 days. Or as my wife likes to say, 12 National Parks in 13 days. Both are true. We also celebrated our 27th Anniversary by exploring the Gulf Shores of Alabama, a beach area we’ve actually never visited. 

It was an incredible summer and I was refreshed. I was ready to change the world again as a high school counselor at a large inner-city high school. We were exiting a pandemic and students were returning to in-person learning. Many struggled mightily over the last couple of years, but we were poised to bring them back to normalcy.

That was, until the next mask mandate came. Just a few weeks into the school year. I was befuddled. I had done everything right. Vaccinated at the first opportunity. Wearing a mask, following recommendations and washing my hands diligently. 

My renewed energy from the summer was boosted by the return to school without masks, able to see the smiles and sadness and excitement and frustrations on students’ faces as they shared their journeys with me from the past year and a half. Things were challenging, for sure, but things were moving forward and the prospect of positive change impassioned our efforts.

Then came an abrupt halt in that spirit—a new, updated mandate came down for our district that we would be returning to masks.

My motivation dropped immediately. My spirit waned. My effort, saddened.

Back to masks?!? Nooooo!!!!!

Whether it was the right thing to do or not did not matter to me at the time. I’m not one for political conversations. I had no agenda. I was simply tired of having to wear a mask and I was under the impression we were going to be free of them.

Within a week, I was exhausted and it appeared everyone else was too. That was about two months ago. Not much has changed for us. Except that we are more exhausted than ever.

The year has brought more challenges than ever. Students are not only behind academically due to missing school, but also two years of social and emotional development. TikTok challenges encouraging students to tear apart school bathrooms and facilities. Students releasing their aggression and pent up frustrations on each other. Parents, distraught and at a loss for how to help their children. Mental Health support is overloaded.

Yes, students and parents are dealing with the after effects of going through (and still going through) a pandemic, but so are the leaders. The administrators. The teachers. The support staff. Everyone of them have had to experience the pandemic for themselves and have made their best effort to guide others through as well. 

I recently attended a conference for high school counselors. My hope this year was to find some motivation, some inspiration to keep on keeping on. Out of nine sessions, I attended four or five on burnout or self-care or the like. Unfortunately, the answers were all pretty much the same. Keep doing what you are doing. 

I was already doing everything I knew to do. Except for physical activity. 

My energy had waned. I had been intending to work out for quite some time. In my head. I just couldn’t get my heart to go along with it. 

Now, thanks to those sessions, I have jogged three out of the last five days and did another workout at school led by our great JROTC instructors. I believe it will help.

The vaccine was recently approved for children ages five to eleven. I’m hearing about a lot of hesitancy. I totally understand even though it has been approved by the FDA and the CDC. But, that also makes me feel less hope that this pandemic will end any time soon.

Thus, my feelings of despair continue. 

What does one write about when they lose inspiration? What should I share? 

My reality. This is where I’ve been and why I have lost much motivation.

Not to mention that others have it much worse than I do. 

My wife, for instance, has been dealing with the aging of her parents. The last six months have been a challenge as the family has had to make difficult decisions together on how to best care for them. It has been overwhelming for her and the family.

Many people working in different fields have had to endure much more than education. I can’t even imagine working in healthcare right now. Yet, my 16 year old daughter has been doing that as an STNA at a nursing home while taking college classes as a high school junior, preparing to graduate a year early.

She had her own challenges coming through this pandemic and she has been incredibly resilient while also helping to care for her aging grandparents as much as possible. She has held it together and continued much success. She is an incredible young lady.

I suppose that is where I look for my encouragement. And maybe where we should all look. 

The bright side. The things for which we have to be thankful.

No matter how challenging, there are always bright spots and reasons to be thankful.

I am thankful for a supportive wife who always tries to make me feel better. I am thankful for my middle daughter who is working full-time as a PTA at twenty years of age and attending full-time at OSU to earn a bachelor’s in Criminology online. She is paying for school out of pocket, with no loans. 

My oldest daughter recently transitioned back to Ohio, completed a new EFDA certification in the Dental Assisting field, became a lead dental assistant with her dentist, and moved into her own place (twice) during the pandemic. 

They have all been incredibly resilient during a very difficult time, all working in the healthcare industry. 

I am thankful that I haven’t lost a job. I am thankful that I’ve been able to maintain present employment and continue to serve our community. I am thankful that my relationship with my wife is as strong as ever. I am thankful that I was able to still release my personal memoir (two years in the writing, 48 years in the making) during the pandemic.

I am thankful that my God has never left me. I am thankful to be his chosen son. I am thankful for eternal salvation that I get to experience every day. I am thankful for God’s provision to help us get out of debt during the pandemic and I am thankful for a future that I knew He holds for me.

While times may be tough, we don’t lose hope if we remember how thankful we are for the good things in our lives.

What do you have to be thankful for? What actually went well for you during the pandemic? What have you overcome to be where you are today?

A Walk Down Memory Lane – Loogootee

We took a walk down memory lane this morning. Literally.

It was a bit damp and cool, but the trek took us around a familiar walk for me. We were in Loogootee, Indiana visiting my brother-in-law and nephews after Hoosier Hysteria in Bloomington the night before. 

Loogootee was the site of three of my most memorable childhood domiciles from four chapters of NEVER SETTLED. We woke up early, got our coffee and began to retrace my childhood path from our trailer we lived in during Chapter 6 (1980.)

From Chapters 6 & 7 of NEVER SETTLED: a memoir of a boy on the road to manhood by Shawn D. Congleton.

This is the corner just before the trailer park which is now gone, replaced by two newer homes.

We moved into a run-down trailer park that was really no trailer park at all. In its heyday, this trailer park may have housed ten to twelve trailers. There were about three or four that were still lived in while we were there; the rest of the spaces were vacant. When we turned right into the trailer park off the small town street, we rounded the bend on a dirt road with a lot of overgrown trees, bushes, and tall grass. The area was not well manicured, as lawns and vegetation go. As we turned right, there was a row of trailers on our right and typical southern Indiana woods on our left. Junk or maybe just abandoned cars were strewn throughout the vacant lots and left over trash was spread around in front of people’s trailers.

This was just around the corner from near where our trailer would have been if it was still there.This would be the same road on the opposite side of where our trailer was, not far from where we found the tadpoles.

Later that day, when we were riding our bikes on the road in our rundown trailer park, we found a snake. Well, we found part of a snake. It was about an inch in diameter and eight to ten inches long. It looked like it had been run over by a car, then run over by a bike, then run over by a lawn mower. It was smashed and cut up to the point that nothing could live through that, I thought. We were all a bit freaked out and disgusted by it, but I guess that’s what boys did. We took home tadpoles to live on our dresser and fiddled around with half-dead snakes. We played with that snake, but from afar using a long stick to poke and prod it. 

    “What the h*ll?!” my brother’s friend yelled as that snake started to slither around. That snake started moving as if it had come back from the dead like a zombie. We all jumped back, but then Jimmy and his friend burst out laughing. I was freaked out. That half-dead or zombie snake had literally moved around and slithered as if nothing happened to it. 

    “These snakes can slither around and move for up to twenty four hours after they die,” my brother explained. He was so freaking smart. When it came to guy stuff, Jimmy knew everything.

    “What? So… it…. is… dead?” I asked quizzically. 

    “Of course, look at it.” He poked and prodded it. It slithered and moved a bit, but it was terribly cut up and smashed. I didn’t know what to think, but Jimmy knew everything so I trusted him. Then my brother reached for his pocket knife and decided that he was going to prove his point. He was a bit afraid I could tell because he wouldn’t just grab that dead snake, but he took his pocket knife and started cutting into the middle of it. After several minutes of playing with his meat, like it was the first steak he had ever eaten, he was able to cut through it. Two snake halves literally laid there on the road and both parts were squirming around. 

    “That’s disgusting! I’m out of here,” I proclaimed and then rode off on my bike by myself. I loved to hang out with my brother, but I wasn’t going to stay there. That snake freaked me out. I rode my bike around the neighborhood for a bit and then headed home. I passed by the city pool on my way that was near the bowling alley. It looked like a great place to swim, but summer was over and even though it was a Sunday, the weather had gotten too cool to swim. It was kind of neat living that close to the pool, but we never got to use it since summer was already over and we weren’t there long enough for the following season. 

The snake was found and dismembered near the puddle here.This is leaving the area where the snake was found back toward the main road.

(Later in the next chapter)

About that time, the front door opened back up and Terri popped her head in.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Jimmy went on to school, but I couldn’t leave you here. If you get caught, I’m dead. I’m responsible for you. Let’s go!” she exclaimed. I knew I had to go. No choice, but I still didn’t want to. We headed out the door and started walking to school. It was such a long walk and we passed that same bowling alley and city pool that I had always wanted to swim at.

The city pool is in the left here and the old bowling alley is on the right.

Why can’t I just have some sort of a normal life? I wondered as we continued to walk the back way to school. We could have arrived at school a little quicker if we walked the front way, but that would have taken us right down front street by all the business and the cars driving up and down the street at 10:30 in the morning.

We walked by this textile company on the way to school.

We continued up the back way and I thought more and more about how embarrassed I was going to be, having to explain why I was late to the teacher and the other kids in class. We still hadn’t gone to school here for more than a couple of months and I was pretty shy at this age to begin with. Finally, after we had walked three fourths of the way to school, my mind had gotten the best of me and I changed my mind, again.

We started arguing as we walked up this hill just before arriving at school.

“I can’t do it. I’m not going to school,” I pleaded.

“Yes, you are! We are almost there!” she said.

“No, you can’t make me. It’s your fault anyway! You said we were staying home!” I cried.

“Fine, go home. I’m going to school. And I’m going to tell the cops you are skipping school,” she argued. 

Yeah, right, I thought. She is going to tell the cops. They didn’t have cops at schools. She would be lucky to tell the principal. They wouldn’t do anything about it. What are they going to do, come get me?! I thought.

The location where I decided to turn around.

I turned around and started walking back home. Terri went on to school. I walked home wondering if there was any other option. I just couldn’t face my teacher or classmates being late. About a half-mile later when I was about half-way home, I heard a car coming down this less frequently used street. I turned to see how far away it was and to move further over to the far side of the street since there were no sidewalks in this particular area. As I careened my head around, I realized the car was a cop. 

Are you freaking, kidding me?! I thought. Nobody ever drives this street and it happens to be a cop! I hoped he hadn’t seen me at this point and I moved over further into the ditch as if to hide my presence. I could hear the car slowing down and I reached down to my shoes as if to pretend I stopped to tie them.

The ditch where I tried to “hide.”
(The trailer in the background was not ours, but reminded me a lot of ours.)

“Hey there, little buddy,” the cop called.

“Oh, hi there,” I responded.

“You doing alright?” he asked. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Oh, yeah. I, uh, wasn’t feeling well today,” I explained.

“Oh yeah, then what are you doing out here?” he persisted.

“I started to come to school, but then I felt sick. So, I’m heading home.” I was sure he understood that or at least, I hoped he would.

“Well, guess what?” he replied. “Good news. There is a nurse at school to take care of you. Come on, get in my car.” I walked up to the passenger door and let myself in. I sheepishly pulled myself into the large front passenger seat. “Don’t forget to buckle,” he said. I didn’t know what my parents would find out, but even after the night before, I was so embarrassed to be going to school late and arriving in a cop car, at that!

Arriving at school.The front entrance to Loogootee Elementary School.